


As-tu déjà aimé?

by anastasiapullingteeth



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-11 03:25:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anastasiapullingteeth/pseuds/anastasiapullingteeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan wants to show Grantaire Valentine's Day can be fun; things turn a little bit different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As-tu déjà aimé?

**Author's Note:**

> Commemorating my first year in this fandom. 
> 
> And happy valentine’s day, y’all! Celebrate friendship too.
> 
> [Tumblr Post](http://anastasiapullingteeth.tumblr.com/post/76650980112/pairing-jehan-grantaire-rating-t-summary)

Grantaire hated Valentine's Day. For someone who spent more time in the apartment of the eternal lover of the group than in his, you'd think he was accustomed by now. But Grantaire _really_ hated Valentine's Day. Not only got depressed when he saw all the couples, like Éponine did, but also had to admit -never aloud- he agreed a bit with Enjolras that it was an invention of consumerism to trick the fools into buying useless crap.

Jehan used to think it was an insult, an offense against the most powerful feeling, and it was personal. "You know how many couples get married or start dating on Valentine's Day?" He used to say, curled up on the couch with his head on Grantaire's shoulder. "Hundreds! And I bet they all break up in less than a year. It's just a cliche, a pathetic representation of the superficial and deceitful their relationship is."

But since he'd broken up with Courfeyrac and decided to be 'just friends', the poet was much more tolerant about the whole thing, and took advantage of the day to flirt with every stranger that crossed his path. And if he was lucky -and he always was- he spent the night in bed with a sexy person.

 

* * *

 

It was February 12, two days and it'd be Valentine's Day, so obviously Grantaire was grumpy. He'd seen at least six flower shops and twelve establishments with ridiculous ornaments on his way to the Café Musain, and had to resist the urge to throw a stone at a sideboard.

By then, everyone in the group knew about the aberration the artist felt for that particular holiday, but didn't fail to be surprised when Grantaire entered the café with long strides and dropped into a chair between Feuilly and Joly.

"This is ridiculous!" he yelled, pulling off his green beanie. "I just saw a guy buying a bear bigger than him. Wow, how romantic, make room for the winner of the most original boyfriend award... Asshole."

"Come on, 'Aire, it is romantic."

"It seems useless to me. I doubt the one who has the misfortune of dating that dumbass appreciates a silly bear that'll only gather dust."

At that time, Marius entered the Café, carrying a teddy bear of normal size with a huge red ribbon. The whole group watched him for several seconds before bursting out laughing; all but Grantaire, who hit his head against the table. Marius raised his eyebrows and sat down, seeing his friends.

"What's going on?"

"It seems you just killed love, my dear friend." Courfeyrac patted him on the shoulder, Marius still didn't understand what was happening.

"Come on, Grantaire, it's not big deal." Jehan, who until then had been reading a book near the window, pulled a chair up to their table and sat dow, resting his chin over his hands. "Valentine's Day can be fun, if you know how to do it."

"No doubt. The thing that bothers me is people just feel that passion one day and not all the time."

Jehan study his face and smiled. "Have you ever loved only by the beauty of the gesture?" He asked with narrowed eyes. "Have you ever sunk your teeth into the apple for the fruit's flavor, the sweetness and the softness of its skin? ... Have you ever tried just to let yourself go?"

Grantaire's eyes briefly rested on Enjolras, but the words he spoke next were directed only to Jehan. "Yes, I've loved by the beauty of the gesture... But the apple was hard and broke my teeth," he added bitterly. He leaned over the back of his chair and took a sip from the bottle he held in his hands. "Those immature passions, those indigestible loves, have often made me sick, my dear Prouvaire."

Jehan settled himself better in his seat, making almost imperceptible the inches he moved away from Courfeyrac. "Lasting love leave lovers drained and the ripe kisses rot their tongues."

The rest of his friends moved aside, knowing one of those almost philosophical exchanges in which often the two men were locked was about to happen, those that left the others unable to follow. It was that connection between Grantaire and Jehan, that understanding of matters of the soul, and that way to talk with the poetry seeping from every pore that made anyone else feel inadequate.

"Passing loves have trivial fevers, and their overgreen kisses flay our lips." Grantaire continued, unaware that only he and Jehan were still on the table. "Passing loves make idle efforts and their short-lived caresses tire our bodies out."

"Lasting loves make lovers look less beautiful. Their caresses weared them down and get the better off of our skins." Jehan ended, taking Grantaire's free hand and raising it to his lips. "Let me show you Valentine's Day's not that bad." The poet smiled and that was it. If he had turned around, he'd have seen a thin line between Courfeyrac's eyebrows and the hint of sadness that darkened his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire approached the frontdoor two days later with a grunt. Not only he'd have to put up with hundreds of cloying couples all day in the coffee shop, now someone had decided that 7:00 am was a good time for a visit. Normally he wouldn't care, but had fallen asleep just an hour ago.

He opened the door and wrinkled his nose. Jehan was standing in the hallway, a small bouquet of roses in one hand and a bottle of red wine in the other. He raised his arms flailing the gifts and smiled showing his teeth.

"Really, Prouvaire?"

"Trust me, it's more than you think."

"I doubt it." the artist said, but still stepped aside to let him in.

"I didn't know if... you had plans later on, so I decided to visit you at this time."

Grantaire cocked his head; he knew exactly what Jehan meant. But Enjolras hadn't wanted to see him that day; apparently was too close to a date for the leader's taste and had made an excuse the huge amount of work he had to do. Grantaire'd just rolled his eyes, he hadn't even considered the option, he knew Enjolras too well.

Jehan took two glasses of one of the cupboards and handed one to Grantaire. "Is not way too early for you to start drinking?" the artist asked, finishing his drink in just one gulp. Jehan toasted to him and sipped without taking his eyes off of Grantaire, his smile when he lowered the glass from his lips was wide, revealing the dimples that formed on his white cheeks. Grantaire smirked, he'd just had an idea.

He refilled his glass, took a rose from the bouquet that Jehan had placed in a vase, and turned it between his fingers as he took another drink. He took a few steps towards Jehan and stroked his cheek with the flower, tracing the line of his jaw with the petals. Grantaire caught his earlobe with his lips and touched his hip with the tips of his fingers, waiting for some sign from Jehan, something that told him he should stop, but the poet left his glass on the table and put a hand on the nape of Grantaire's neck to keep him where he was. It was all he needed.

He took the bottle and, with his arm around Jehan's waist, walked with him to the bedroom. Jehan chuckled, taking the single rose with him.

 

* * *

 

Jehan began to unbutton his shirt, but Grantaire stopped him shaking his head. He had something else in mind. He led the poet to the bed and lay him back on the mattress, then took the rose from the bedside table, pulled something out of a drawer and returned to trace Jehan's neck with the flower as he straddled the youngest man. Jehan's hair still braided over his shoulder, shone with the light streaming through the curtain.

He bent his head and whispered in his ear. "'You are here. Oh, you do not run away. You will answer me to the last cry.'" He opened Jehan's shirt slowly, his strong fingers on each button, leaving a small caress on the exposed skin. "'Curl round me as though you were frightened. Even so, a strange shadow once ran through your eyes.'"

He lifted his head to watch Jehan, pleased to see the smile of the young man which could only mean one thing: he'd recognized the poem from the book he was reading at the Musain. "'Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle, and even your chest smells of it.'" He kissed the neck displayed in front of him, leaving light red areas where his lips had touched, but not daring to mark the porcelain skin. "'While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.'" Jehan grabbed his neck, pulling him down until their lips touched. He arched his legs to move his hips, but Grantaire placed a hand on his belly to stop the movement; Jehan whimpered.

He unbuttoned his pants then, moving back slightly for better access and whispered against Jehan's stomach, "'How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.'" He passed the rose over his stomach and went down to his left hip bone, replacing the flower with his lips in the sweetest kiss. Jehan's breathing hitched.

"'Aire, ple- please."

Grantaire ignored him. He lift his hips to take the pants off, leaving the underwear in place. "'So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, and over our heads the grey light unwinds in turning fans.'" He traced the long legs with the rose first, with his lips after, stopping briefly to see the reaction in the poet. Jehan had his eyes shut tight and his hands clenched between the sheets, trying to break free of the artist's grip to get some friction.

Grantaire continued to ignore his efforts, placing the next words on the poet's firm thighs. "'My words rained over you, stroking you. A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body. Until I even believe that you own the universe.'"

He raised his hands to Jehan's waist, lifting him slightly from the mattress to get rid of the last cloth. Grantaire watched the naked body spread out before his eyes, he still fully clothed; Jehan kept dropping desperate sounds between his red lips. "'I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.'"

He uncapped the bottle of lube he had taken from the bedside table and spread Jehan's legs. Grantaire laid a kiss on the inside of his thigh and said the last words against the soft skin. "'I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.'"

 

* * *

 

Grantaire woke up an hour later. If he didn't get up immediately, he'd be late for work... again. He opened his eyes when the weight on his chest prevented him from getting out of bed. Jehan was fast asleep, his arm firmly around the artist's waist; his auburn hair was spread on the white pillow and Grantaire could see a red mark on his shoulder where he'd bitten him moments ago. The artist smiled, moved away from Jehan carefully so not to wake him up and walked to the bathroom.

Valentine's Day didn't seem so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> The title and almost everything Jehan and Grantaire say at the Musain are from a song of _Les Chansons d'amour_. If you want to watch them singing it in french, you can do it [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h_d3fqMH58s).
> 
> The poem Grantaire recites during the, uhm, act is _Poem 14_ by Pablo Neruda -my favorite poet if you haven't noticed- and it's part of his book _Twenty poems of love and a song of despair_ , which is, of course, the book Jehan's reading at the Musain.


End file.
